The Guardian Active
by txdreams
Summary: A WITH PERMISSION continuation of snfans's brillant story, The Guardian.
1. Author's Note

**This is a continuation of the brilliant story: The Guardian, by snfan. She did give me permission to continue on with her story because she no longer wanted to. I will copy all of her chapters to this story for your convenience and most likely combine some just to save time. Enjoy! **

**DISCLAIMER FOR STORY: I do not own Home Improvement**


	2. Chapters 1 to 4

**Chapters 1-4 of snfan's: The Guardian with MINOR tweaking. Enjoy **

_The Guardian_

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_August 1991_

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Bradley Michael Taylor, Randall William Taylor, and Marcus Timothy Taylor all hid in Brad's bedroom. Ten-year-old Brad put a chair under the doorknob and backed away from the door to crouch down next to his nine-year-old brother, Randy, and his seven-year-old brother Mark. Mark was crying, had his little hands over his ears so he wouldn't hear the yelling and the threats.

"Will you shut up, Mark?" Brad hissed. "He'll find us if you keep crying that loud."

Mark tried to quiet down. Randy looked at his older brother and whispered, "I can hear him coming up the stairs, Brad."

"Shh, shh…" Brad said softly when Mark cried a little louder. "Shh, Mark…"

"BOYS!"

"He's comin'." Mark sobbed quietly. He brought his knees to his chest and let his face rest on them with his arms wrapped around his head protectively.

"He can't get us," Randy whispered to Mark. "We're safe."

"BOYS!"

"B-Brad?" Randy said in a small voice so Mark couldn't hear. "He-he can't get us, right?"

"He can't open the door," Brad said. "We can just wait until he passes out like last night."

"I want Mom." Mark whimpered.

"So do I, but Mom's not here," Randy whispered. "Neither's Dad…Just him."

"He's getting closer, shut up," Brad whispered. The Taylor boys could hear the footsteps thundering down the hallway.

"BOYS! GODDAMMIT! GET OUT HERE!"

Randy felt himself start to shake a little but he sunk lower on the floor beside the bed. Brad had Mark sink down so if, God Forbid, their new guardian stormed into the room; they would have a few extra seconds of a pain-free body.

"YOUR GUNNA GET IT! ALL THREE OF YA!" The drunken slur screamed. Mark shuddered and cried harder when the doorknob began jiggling.

"He's comin', he's gunna kill us." Mark moaned.

"No, he's not, Mark," Brad said. "Be quiet, okay?"

Brad closed his eyes and knew then the door was going to break down. He turned to Randy and Mark and said softly, "Get under the bed. Roll under. Go!"

Mark rolled under the bed even though he was quivering. Randy followed and Brad went last. Ever since his parents died a few months ago and they moved to live with their new guardian, his little brothers became his number one priority. He had to protect them.

The door was being kicked at. Mark moaned and Brad could feel Randy shudder against him. Brad took a deep breath. All three jumped, bumping their heads on the metal of the under-side of the bed, when the door was kicked open.

"YOU LITTLE SOBS ARE GUNNA GET IT NOW!" Brad's eyes widened when a beer bottle was thrown across the room and smashed into a bunch of pieces.

"AWW!" Brad yelped when a fist grabbed his blonde hair. He was dragged out like that and soon looked into the drunken face of his guardian.

"You, son-of-a-bitch. You little bastard. You're gunna get it, you little piece of shit." The man raised his hand and Brad shuddered, saying a quick prayer that he wouldn't find Randy and Mark.

"No, Uncle Jeff…"

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_The Guardian_

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_This chapter is dedicated to my new baby cousin, Taylor Jack. _

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_August 1991_

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Brad gingerly touched his blacked eye. His Uncle Jeff Taylor had bruised him up pretty good. After Jeff got Brad weakened and nearly out, Jeff got a hold of Randy and Mark. Brad felt horrible that he let that bastard get a hold of his younger brothers.

"My back hurts." Mark whimpered. He was sitting on the full bed all three boys had to share.

"He hit you there I don't know how many times," Brad sighed. He gently lifted the back of Mark's shirt to take a look. Mark's back was bruised and a variety of colors from Jeff's fists. He hadn't taken a belt or a stick to the boys. Yet.

"Randy, let me take a look." Brad said after putting Mark's shirt back down.

Randy Taylor had taken a few harsh blows in his chest, near his lungs Brad guessed. Being an asthmatic the blows impacted his breathing a little.

Randy coughed and rubbed softly at his pained chest before saying, "I'm okay, Brad. Really."

Brad didn't listen to that. He gently pried Randy's hands away and undid one of Randy's overall straps. He lowered the neck of Randy's white t-shirt. He winced. Randy's upper chest was worse than Mark's back. The upper chest, near the neck, was bruised black and blue.

"I said I'm okay, Brad." Randy said and pushed Brad's hands away. He clipped his overall strap back on.

"Just making sure. He'll be back any minute. Uncle Jeff just went to get a drink."

"He's gunna kill us." Mark moaned and laid down on the bed.

"No he's not. Just be cool, guys. All we can do is not cry and try not to scream when he hits us. He'll get bored if we do that."

"Mark, that means stop bawling." Randy snapped.

"Randy, don't be harsh." Brad said. "Damn…I think he's coming back."

"Where are we gunna hide?" Mark whispered.

"He knows all of the hiding places." Randy said. "We might as well just wait for him. Beating will get over faster, anyway."

Jeff Taylor stumbled into the small bedroom he had his three nephews share.

"Blondie," He pointed to Brad. "C'mere."

"U-Uncle Jeff…"

"Get over here, Blondie." Jeff said. "Or I'll come over there."

"Don't do it, Brad." Mark whimpered.

"Stay here, guys." Brad whispered and walked forward. Jeff grabbed Brad's arm and slammed the door, locking Randy and Mark in the bedroom.

"What are you gunna do?" Brad asked as his uncle dragged him down the hallway.

"Shut up, Blondie." Jeff snapped. "I hate you boys, you know that? I hate all three of yas. I'll make sure you three pay for havin' to take yas in."

"You could have denied custody." Brad said and then he was thrown into a different room. He stumbled and gained balance.

"I hate you, Blondie. You and your brothers." Jeff was loosening his belt. Brad stared as his uncle did so. "Little sons of bitches…Take off your shirt, Blondie."

"N-no…Please…"

"I said take your shirt off!" Jeff yelled and cracked his belt at Brad. The folded leather his Brad in the head. Brad fought the urge to yell. He obeyed and took off his shirt. He was thrown to the floor and the belt came whipping down. Brad covered his head and fought tears. He felt like crying out and fighting back. Fighting back wouldn't only get him hurt, but his two brothers. Brad couldn't risk his little brothers.

To show when he was done, Jeff kicked Brad and put his belt on.

"You're the oldest, right, Blondie?" Jeff said to Brad as Brad continued to lay on the floor, barebacked and hurt. Brad felt like if he talked, he would cry, so he just nodded.

"Go get the second one. After him, get the third one."

"I'll take theirs." Brad said in small tone and forced himself to sit up. "I'll take their beatings."

"Doesn't work like that. Go get whichever one of you is the second Taylor boy."

"Please…"

"Do as I say or I'll beat you again and cripple one of your brothers!" Jeff screamed. "Which will it be? Shorty or Crybaby? Your pick, Blondie. I'd take the easy way and get the second Taylor boy."

"Yes, sir." Brad whispered and stood on wobbly feet. He wiped at his teary eyes after he passed his uncle.

Jeff ended up following Brad to the room. He unlocked the door, pushed Brad in and said, "Who is the second born?"

Randy said a small, "I am."

"Move over here, Shorty. It's your turn." Jeff said.

"But…"

"Randy, it's the easy way. Don't argue, please." Brad begged his nine-year-old brother.

"Crybaby, your next." Jeff said as he took Randy by the arm.

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_The Guardian_

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_August 1991_

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"Please, Uncle Jeff, I'm sorry for whatever I did." Randy Taylor begged. He dragged his feet every step of the way to the bedroom.

"Begging will make this hurt more, Shorty." Jeff Taylor said and threw Randy into the room. Randy stumbled to the floor, face down, and covered his head with his hands. The belt came down. Randy could hear it whistle wildly and then the sharp pain entered his body.

Randy yelped and felt a few tears escape from his eyes.

"Stop! I'm sorry! I…"

"Begging will only make it worse, Shorty! I'd shut up if I was you!" Jeff screamed.

Randy yelped again. After a while he felt his uncle's foot cram into his chest and flip him to his back. Randy covered his face with his arms and the belt crashed into his ribcage.

"I-I…" Randy didn't finish his sentence. It would only hurt him more.

"You, of the three of you, are the worst! I hate you the most, boy, hear me?"

"Y-Yes." Randy sobbed. He couldn't stop now.

"You are a worthless piece of shit," Jeff threw the belt on the floor and grabbed Randy up by the hair. "Stop your crying, Shorty. I can guarantee you right now that you'll get it harder if you screw up. Go back to your room right now and get Crybaby."

"I-I…"

Jeff slapped Randy. Randy flinched and trembled.

"Do as I say." Jeff said. "Or else."

Randy stumbled out of them room, wiping at the blood and tears on his face. Jeff was right behind him.

"Stop the hell crying, you little fuckin' baby. I oughta call you Crybaby." Jeff said.

"Sorry." Randy said.

They entered the bedroom where Brad and Mark were. Brad stood when he saw Randy.

"Crybaby, lets go," Jeff grabbed Mark and hauled him out. The door slammed.

"Let me go!" Mark screamed.

"Shut up!" Jeff shoved Mark into the wall and then shoved him into the bedroom. Mark screamed each time he got hit with the belt, causing Jeff to beat him longer. Jeff's arm got tired after half an hour so he dragged the sobbing Mark back to the bedroom and locked all three boys in there.

"He didn't hit you that bad, did he, Mark?" Brad asked quietly, trying to calm his youngest brother down.

"I hate it here. I wanna go home. I want Mom and Dad." Mark sobbed.

"They're not here anymore, Mark ,so shut up about it." Randy snapped as he pressed his face into a pillow to soften the pain.

"Shut up, both of you." Brad snapped. "We're all we got now. Don't fight or we don't have anything. We gotta beat this guy."

"H-How?" Mark cried, drying his face with his sleeve.

"I don't know yet. We can do it, though. He's too dumb to know that much." Brad said.

"It's hopeless, Brad. We'll be stuck here until we're 18." Randy said.

"Don't be so negative," Brad said. "You're not helping anything."

"Just being realistic." The nine-year-old replied.

"We could leave when he's wasted," Brad said. "We'll pick the lock on the door or climb out the window. Not now, though. We have to wait until he's drunk as hell."

"That won't take long. And then when he realizes we're leaving, he'll beat us until we're dead." Randy said. That made Mark cry all over again.

Brad went up to Randy and shoved him down on the bed, causing the younger boy to wince at the pain in his back and chest.

"Shut up all ready. We have to try. Stop and think before you say stuff like that. This isn't like before when we lived in Michigan with Mom and Dad and had a good life. Stop making things worse. What's the matter with you?"

Randy shrugged. "Don't know, Brad." He wiped at his face and turned on the bed. "I'm going to sleep."

"Maybe you'll think next time before opening your mouth." Brad snapped. He understood why his mother and father were stressed about their attitudes, now.

"And maybe we'll go back home, Brad," Randy said softly. "Either way chances are slim."

Brad ignored Rand and went to Mark. "C'mon, Mark, don't cry. Everything's all right…"

And that's how everything was, how everyone acted. After that day, the boys didn't question each other or their uncle. For several months after that day, Brad thought of an escape plan…

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_The Guardian_

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_January 1992_

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"DAMMIT!" Jeff Taylor screamed. Randy dodged his uncle's flying fists and ran up to the bedroom. Brad picked his head up when the screaming continued. Mark just covered his ears. He didn't cry that much anymore. There wasn't a point.

"Hide me, Brad!" Randy gasped when he slammed the door. "He's gunna kill me this time."

"What'd you do now?" Brad asked and went up to his brother. "You're always pissing him off, Randy. Its pretty much common sense if you don't want to get your ass beat, don't piss him off!"

"I-I was getting a drink. I-It wasn't my fault." Randy panted. He put a hand to his chest. "Br-Brad, I think I need my inhaler."

"You don't have much medicine in it left," Mark said. "You need a refill."

"We'll, its not like we're gunna get one."

"OPEN UP THE DOOR!" Jeff pounded on the door. Randy panted and gasped. Jeff Taylor whipped the door open and grabbed Randy by the shirt collar.

"Wait! Uncle Jeff, please," Brad went in front of his uncle's path. "Randy's sick. I'll take it. I'll take his punishment."

"That's not the way it works, Blondie," Jeff tried to brush by Brad but the boy managed to stand his ground.

"He's sick. I'll take his punishment, Un…" Brad was backhanded and pushed to the floor.

"You do as I say, boy, and Shorty won't be hurt more," Jeff said. "Let's go, Shorty, you little son-of-a-bitch."

"Don't hurt Randy!" Mark yelled.

"Shut it, Crybaby!" Jeff screamed. "Or your next! MOVE!" He shoved Randy into the hallway. Brad got back up to lunge for Randy but was shoved back by Jeff. The bedroom door shut and was locked.

"NO!" Brad screamed. He banged on the door. Mark and Brad could hear Jeff screaming, a belt swinging and Randy coughing and gagging and wheezing.

It all ended half an hour later. Jeff whipped open the bedroom door and threw Randy in. Randy hit the floor just as Jeff slammed the door.

"Randy," Brad got down on his knees and patted his little brother's face. Randy was out cold but still breathing, at least, very lightly.

"Mark, get me his inhaler." Brad said. "Hurry up!"

"I all ready got it." Mark got down on his knees as well and gave Brad the inhaler.

"Hold up his head," Brad said and helped move Randy so his head was resting on Mark's lap. "Good…Hang in there, Randy."

Brad put the mouthpiece of the inhaler in his brother's mouth and pressed down on the piece. Randy gave a little cough.

"That's it," Brad whispered. "Wake up, Randy."

"Give him another hit off it," Mark said. "He's breathing a lot stronger."

"One more puff, Randy." Brad said softly. Another puff entered Randy's mouth and the nine-year-old boy coughed more. He opened his swollen eyes very slowly.

"B-Brad?" Randy whispered. "I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean it."

Brad sat Randy up and hugged him. Randy hugged his only older brother back, confused by this. The three Taylor boys never did stuff like this.

"I'm sorry I've been a jerk," Brad said. "To you and Mark," Brad looked at Mark, who edged closer to be part of the embrace. "If we want to escape here, we need to work together. Randy, you need more medicine."

"I know," Randy said softly. "Mom always had a back-up inhaler for me. I don't have one now. I-I couldn't find the back-up one when we had to pack up and come here."

"Mom did everything right," Mark said. "She was perfect."

"Accept for cooking." Brad said which put small smiles on Randy and Mark's faces.

"And Dad was just funny," Mark said. "He could always make me laugh." Mark wiped wetness from his young bright eyes.

"He could make anyone laugh," Randy said. "Dad as always blowing stuff up and getting himself in the emergency room."

Brad let go of Randy and Mark and said, "Hopefully we'll all be able to cook and not kill ourselves by the time we're mom and dad's age."

"Yea." Randy sniffed back and wiped at his eyes. Mark hid his face. Brad took a few deep breaths before looking at Randy.

"Where did he hit you the most? I'll clean up the blood." Brad whispered. He helped Randy stand up and gently helped him on the bed. The boys didn't discuss Tim and Jill Taylor any further.

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	3. Chapters 5 to 8

**Chapters 5-8 with minor tweaking. Enjoy! **

_The Guardian_

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**"**_Randy sniffed back and wiped at his eyes. Mark hid his face. Brad took a few deep breaths before looking at Randy. _

"_Where did he hit you the most? I'll clean up the blood." Brad whispered. He helped Randy stand up and gently helped him on the bed. The boys didn't discuss Tim and Jill Taylor any further.__**"**_

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_February 1992_

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"He's passed out," Brad whispered. "We can go get some food."

"How do you know?" Randy whispered and took a deep breath. He winced as he did so. So many blows to his chest made it difficult to move or breath.

"I heard him drop," Brad said and slowly opened the bedroom door. "We can get something, now come on."

"Good, I'm starving." Randy said. It had been three days since either of the boys had eaten anything.

"I'm scared." Mark whimpered but followed.

"Me too." Randy whispered. Brad was scared but he didn't say anything. He was the oldest. He had to protect his brothers.

"Shh." Brad whispered. The three Taylor boys tiptoed down the hall and to the stairwell. Uncle Jeff Taylor was lying right there on the floor. Mark began to tremble. Brad nudged him and gave his youngest brother a reassuring look. Mark nodded and they went downstairs.

"Okay," Brad whispered when they entered the kitchen. "Be real quiet."

"He's got pizza." Mark whispered. About half a box of pizza was left on the table.

"It's probably been sitting there for the past week like that," Brad whispered. He opened the fridge. "Look, he's got some lunchmeat in here that still looks all right. He's got bologna and cheese and some other stuff."

"I found some bread." Randy said quietly. He pulled out half a loaf of white bread that would've been stale two days from that moment. Brad nodded and began pulling out the food.

"Here, Mark, hold these," Brad handed the youngest Taylor some individually wrapped slices of cheese, some bologna and a little ham that he'd found. Randy grabbed the bread and took out some of the mustard he found in the fridge.

"Think this is still good?" Randy asked Brad.

"Smell it." Brad whispered and looked for something for them to drink. All he could find were beer and more beer. "We can get water from the bathroom for a drink, I guess." He took the bologna from Mark and they started back up the stairs very quietly.

Jeff luckily didn't wake up when the boys passed. Brad, Randy, and Mark managed to slip right by him into their room to eat.

Within minutes the bread, cheese, ham, bologna, and the mustard was gone. Randy wasn't sure if the mustard was bad, none of them were. They had all been so hungry they couldn't taste what they shoved into their mouths.

"That was good." Mark said, patting his little stomach. "Think Uncle Jeff will figure it out we stole food?"

"We didn't steal, Mark," Brad said. "We were hungry. Uncle Jeff's supposed to feed us and he didn't. We're trying to survive."

"I guess." Mark said.

"When do you think he'll wake up?" Randy asked as he brushed bread crumbs off his dirty shirt.

"Could be anytime," Brad said. "Hopefully not for awhile."

"I'm thirsty." Mark said.

"We can go to the bathroom and get a drink," Brad whispered. "But we have to be quiet," Brad opened the bedroom door. "Real quiet…"

"Little bastards." Brad jumped. Jeff was right there outside the doors.

"Taking my food, you little pricks. Huh? It's not yours. _I'm_ the one that bought all that food and _you _think you have the right to it? You thieves."

"You're supposed to feed us." Mark said in a quiet voice though he wanted to yell it.

"I don't have to do shit for you," Jeff grabbed Mark up and tucked him under his arm. Then he grabbed Randy and Brad by their shirts collars and led them to the bathroom.

He shoved Mark and Randy to the side and made Brad kneel by the toilet.

"Spit it up." Jeff ordered.

"Wh-what?" Brad stammered. Uncle Jeff had never made him or his brothers to do this before. They never had to sneak food before either, usually their uncle just threw leftovers at them and they gobbled it down.

"I said," Jeff said in a slow tone. "Spit it up! You didn't deserve the food. You are a thief, Blondie Boy. Throw it up."

"Please, Uncle Jeff…" Brad whispered.

"All right, you little pansy," Jeff reached around and grabbed his oldest nephew by the chin. He held Brad's squirming feet between his legs and began to open Brad's mouth and cram his finger down. Brad began to choke and cough and soon he threw up; the bread and lunchmeat all came out of his mouth and into the toilet. Brad coughed and tried to breath. Jeff let go.

"You deserve that," Jeff said. "Plus, you'll be spending time in my room. All three of you."

The almost eleven-year-old Brad flinched, still leaning over the toilet on his knees. He just stared at what he puked up. He felt too scared and sick to move. Whenever his uncle said that, "You'll be spending time in my room" it meant he was going to get a beating.

"Shorty, get over," Jeff shoved Brad to the floor and grabbed Randy. Randy fought for a moment until he was slapped. "You never learn, huh? Dumbass kid…" Randy was bent over and Jeff's finger was down his throat in a second. A minute later, all the contents in Randy's stomach were in the toilet and on the floor.

"You'll be cleaning that up," Jeff said and shoved Randy back. Randy sat up against the bathtub, next to Brad and shook from sickness. Jeff grabbed Mark and did the same thing he did to Brad and Randy. After Mark threw everything he had just eaten up, he was crying.

"Stupid Crybaby," Jeff said. "Shorty, you clean this up. If it's not spotless by the time I'm done with Blondie, you are going to get it three times harder, understand?" Randy nodded, too scared to say anything.

Jeff turned to a crying Mark and snapped, "Crybaby, get to your room and stop the hell crying. I'll give you something to cry about…"

"Y-yes, sir." Mark whimpered and headed to their room. After the door to the boys' room was shut, Jeff grabbed Brad's arm and led him to his bedroom.

Brad was thrown to floor facedown. He didn't dare turn around to see what his uncle was doing or he would be kicked. Soon, he heard the belt and a crack through the air. Brad for the first few minutes didn't realizing he was screaming or that he uncle was humming softly, very softly.

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_The Guardian_

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"_Jeff turned to a crying Mark and snapped, "Crybaby, get to your room and stop the hell crying. I'll give you something to cry about…"_

"_Y-yes, sir." Mark whimpered and headed to their room. After the door to the boys' room was shut, Jeff grabbed Brad's arm and led him to his bedroom._

_Brad was thrown to floor facedown. He didn't dare turn around to see what his uncle was doing or he would be kicked. Soon, he heard the belt and a crack through the air. Brad for the first few minutes didn't realizing he was screaming or that he uncle was humming softly, very softly.__**"**_

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_April 1992_

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Jeff Taylor was drunk again. Brad had his little brothers under the bed, hiding. Jeff was only screaming 'Shorty' which meant he was after almost ten-year-old Randy.

"Just let me go, Brad," Randy whispered. "Or he'll hurt all of us. No point in that if he's just after me."

"No way," Brad whispered. "He'll…no, Randy."

"Brad…"

"Randy, I'm the oldest," Brad snapped softly. "When Mom and Dad…you know, I told myself to look out for you and Mark. Just wait until he passes out."

"He remembers everything, Brad," Randy whispered. "He remembers if we eat. Sometimes he makes us puke it all up. He remembers who he's after. If I don't go out there now, he'll hurt me worse later. We all know that by now. He'll hurt all of us," Then Randy lowered his voice to a much, much softer tone so Mark couldn't hear. "I'm a big brother, too, Brad. I gotta protect Mark. I don't want Uncle Jeff hurting him anymore. I'm going out so he won't hurt you or Mark."

"That's stupid, Randy," Brad whispered. He looked back and saw Mark lying in the darkest corner under the bed with his hands over his head. Brad could see the skinny shoulders shaking from the sobs that escaped out of almost eight-year-old Mark. "I can't let you go."

"Well, I'm going." Randy said quietly and wriggled out from under the bed before Brad could catch him. Brad quickly followed, telling Mark to stay put. Just as Randy got to the door, Jeff whipped it open.

"Damn brat!" He slurred and grabbed Randy. Jeff shoved Brad back so hard he fell. Jeff threw Randy into the hallway and slammed the bedroom door and Brad flinched when the lock clicked.

"NO!" Brad screamed. "Uncle Jeff! Don't do this!" Brad had picked himself up and began beating his fists on the door. "Uncle Jeff!"

"B-Brad?" Mark crawled out of from under the bed. Brad stared at his youngest brother's tear-stained, dirty face. "Are we next?"

"I don't know," Brad said frantically. "Randy's got no asthma stuff left and Uncle Jeff'll kill him if he doesn't have it."

"Can we call the police?" Mark whimpered.

Brad shook his head.

"Remember what Uncle Jeff said if we ever told anyone?" Brad asked. "He'll kill us all. We can't even go to school because of him."

Mark shuddered.

"I don't want Randy dead, Brad." Mark whimpered and went onto the bed and began crying again. Brad sighed. He thought Mark was done with crying but he couldn't blame his brother. Brad thought to himself, _If I was the youngest, I'd probably be crying, too._

"AWW!" Brad and Mark whipped their heads to the door at the scream.

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Randy tried to pick himself up. Blood was streaming from his nose and mouth. His chest felt like someone was using it as a drum. It wasn't even over. Jeff came over and kicked Randy in the legs.

"Goddamn piece of shit," Jeff spat. "Hear me, boy? What are you?"

When Randy couldn't get his answer out, Jeff kicked him again in the stomach. "What are you?"

"A-A g-goddamn piece of sh-shit." Randy sputtered. Blood continued coming out of his nose like a little river and Randy couldn't tell where in his mouth the blood was coming from.

"Damn straight, boy," Jeff reached down and picked up Randy by the collar of his torn and dirty shirt. Randy began coughing and the tears were all ready rolling down his face. Jeff shook him. "Goddamn baby! Can't handle a little beating? Cryin' like a goddamn baby, huh? I'll give you something to cry about, boy."

"No, please, Uncle Jeff," Randy gasped. He began drying his face with trembling hands, further staining his filthy hands with more blood and grim. "I'm s-sorry…" But it was too late. Randy was shoved to the ground. His shirt was taken off and thrown to the side.

"AWW!" Randy screamed when the belt came down on his scarred back. It wasn't the leather, though, it was the buckle.

"Now, cry me a fuckin' river, Shorty!" Jeff Taylor screamed.

Randy gasped and coughed and cried and bled until Jeff threw the belt aside. By that time, Randy couldn't even pick himself up, so Jeff just left him there.

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_The Guardian_

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""_No, please, Uncle Jeff," Randy gasped. He began drying his face with trembling hands, further staining his filthy hands with more blood and grim. "I'm s-sorry…" But it was too late. Randy was shoved to the ground. His shirt was taken off and thrown to the side. _

"_AWW!" Randy screamed when the belt came down on his scarred back. It wasn't the leather, though, it was the buckle. _

"_Now, cry me a fuckin' river, Shorty!" Jeff Taylor screamed. _

_Randy gasped and coughed and cried and bled until Jeff threw the belt aside. By that time, Randy couldn't even pick himself up, so Jeff just left him there._

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_April 1992_

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"Where's Randy?" Mark asked Brad. "Uncle Jeff would've put him back in here by now."

"I can hear him crying but I don't hear Uncle Jeff or anything anymore." Brad said. Brad kept jiggling the door handle. "And the damn door is locked. We'll never get to Randy."

"I really want Mom." Mark began to whimper and soon was crying. Brad went over to Mark.

"Please don't cry, Mark," Brad said quietly. "Mom and Dad wouldn't want you to cry. You need to be strong. If Uncle Jeff sees you crying' all the time, he'll keep calling you Crybaby and beat you harder. Please stop crying, Mark."

"I-I'm sorry, Brad," Mark wiped his face and tried to stop. Short, gasping breaths escaped his lungs for a few minutes and then stopped. "I hope Randy's okay. We gotta find a way out."

"How many times in the past few months when we first got here have we looked, Mark?" Brad asked and got off the bed. Mark sat back on his elbows and wiped his nose on his hand and then wiped his hand across his bare stomach. All three boys lost the hygiene habits their mother spent years trying to instill in them. All three walked around in old pairs of jeans or boxer shorts, usually. All their clothes had blood and filth on them. The boys hadn't received even a new pair of socks since they moved in with their uncle. Their shoes were too tight and outgrown, but it didn't matter since they weren't allowed to even go in the backyard of their Uncle Jeff's home.

"Dad would've invented something to blow the door out." Mark said after a few minutes.

"He wouldn't even mean it," Brad said with a slight laugh. "You know, to blow the door up…We could pick the lock. Dad said he did stuff like that when he was a kid."

"Pick the lock with what?" Mark asked.

"Something small and skinny," Brad said. "Like a pin."

"What if Uncle Jeff catches us?" Mark asked in a scared voice, staring at the door as if he was expecting him to burst through. "He'll beat us until…"

"Who cares?" Brad snapped. He turned to face Mark.

"Who cares?" Mark sat up and stared. "Brad…"

"He's gunna beat us anyway," Brad said. "No matter what we do. Help me find something to pick the lock with."

Mark nodded and put a little grin on. He slid off the bed and started looking around the room.

Twenty minutes later, Brad was rummaging quietly through the little closet. He was digging through the shelves and there, way in the dark dusty corner of the next to top shelf was a little Phillips Head Screwdriver.

"Jackpot, Mark!" Brad exclaimed excitedly and climbed off the bottom shelf he had been standing on.

"What'd you find?" Mark had been looking under the old rug.

"Screwdriver," Brad said. "We can unscrew the knob on the door and jiggle the lock from there. Shouldn't be that hard. The door's old enough."

"I guess," Mark agreed. "I think Uncle Jeff is passed out."

"Me too, or he definitely wouldn't come for us by now," Brad said. "Come on, we gotta move fast. I don't even know how long he's been out or if he left the house. We gotta move, Mark."

Within ten minutes two screws from the door fell and the knob came off. Brad stuck his grimy finger inside the hole where the door handle fell off and felt around for the lock. When he thought he found it, he was able to click it back and door unlocked.

"You did it, Brad!" Mark said excitedly.

"Shh, shh…Uncle Jeff could be out there."

"Sorry." Mark whispered.

"Randy's probably in Uncle Jeff's bedroom," Brad whispered. "I can hear him crying still…We just gotta go in, get Randy and come back here and screw the door knob back in so Uncle Jeff won't know. He'll forget where he left Randy."

"He's got a good memory, Brad," Mark said. "I think he'd remember."

"I don't care at this point." Brad whispered and began tiptoeing down the hall. Mark was right behind his oldest brother, practically on his heals.

Randy Taylor was still lying on the floor of their uncle's bedroom, facedown and wetting the carpet with tears of hurt and shame. Brad almost fell face-forward at the sight. Mark started shivering. Randy's back was worse than ever. Blood was still seeping out of wounds and new cuts. An assortment of colors, new blue and black, stinging red and old purple and yellow bruises were shown very much. Brad and Mark couldn't see any of Randy's real skin color on him at all. They could see the old belt on the floor next to Randy.

"Dammit, Randy," Brad got down on his knees and tried to figure a way to get Randy up without hurting him and making him cry anymore than he all ready was. Brad saw Randy's face. "Your nose and lip…You eye…We gotta get you up."

"I-I can't, Brad…I just…" Randy started crying again. "He'll hurt me again. Just leave me alone."

"No way." Mark spoke up.

"Where is he?" Brad whispered.

"I don't know." Randy gasped and buried his swollen face into the floor.

"Let's get you up." Brad whispered and took Randy's bare arm. Randy gasped and pulled away.

"I. Can't. Move, Brad," Randy cried. "What about that can't you understand?"

"Can you feel your back and legs?" Brad's color drained then. What Uncle Jeff hit his spine too hard?"

"Kinda," Randy groaned. "He broke some ribs and I don't even know what else."

"Okay," Brad whispered, worried that Randy was paralyzed as Jeff had always threatened. He looked up at Mark who looked frozen in his spot. "Mark, check downstairs to see if Uncle Jeff's there and if he's not dial 9-1-1."

"But, Brad…"

"He's gone too far," Brad said. "Go, Mark! Hurry!"

Mark turned around and started walking out the door but was grabbed by the arm and slapped.

"Where in hell do you think you're going, Crybaby?" Brad's had head shot up at the slap. Jeff's eyes were blazing and red from too much alcohol. "Your all gunna be sorry. Shorty, if you ain't crippled yet, you're about to be."

Brad stood and walked up to his uncle and tried prying Mark away and he himself was scooped up. Jeff dropped Mark and gave him a kick. Then he said coldly to Brad, "If that's the way you want it, Blondie, that's the way it'll be."

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_The Guardian_

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_April 1992_

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"Please, Uncle Jeff," Brad kicked his legs and tried to squirm out of his uncle's carry. "We weren't really gunna call the police…I was just kidding…"

"_Shut the fuck up_!" Jeff screamed as he dropped Brad on the floor of his bedroom. "All three of you…I'll cripple all three of you."

Brad rolled over on his stomach immediately and brought his legs to his chest. He had to avoid being hit in the spine or his legs.

Brad hissed when he was kicked, yelped when he was kicked again in the same spot and he hollered when the belt buckle hit his knee.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Brad yelled over and over as he got beat.

"Too late for that, Blondie." Jeff continued whacking Brad anywhere with the belt buckle.

After forty minutes, Jeff stopped and dropped the belt. Brad was quivering on the floor and crying for the first time in a while.

"Let this be a lesson to you, you little shithead," Jeff said as he hauled Brad upward. "Go to your room. Tell Shorty to get in here."

Brad choked on a sob and limped out, practically falling on the floor. Randy caught his arm with Mark behind him.

"He-he wants you in-in there." Brad cried.

"Brad," Mark took a deep breath. "We-we…Your bleeding…Your head…"

"What? Don't worry a-about me." Brad wiped his face tremblingly. He didn't want his younger brothers to see him cry anymore.

"We called the police." Randy whispered. "Mark and I snuck downstairs and called. They'll be here any minute."

"He's gunna kill you." Brad whispered.

"Goddammit, Shorty," Jeff came out of the bedroom and grabbed Randy's arm. "You little…"

Sirens were outside. Jeff's head shot up. He shook Randy.

"What'd you fuckin' do?" Jeff yelled.

Randy couldn't speak. He couldn't find his voice to speak.

"What did you fuckin' do?!" Jeff yelled again and shoved Randy to the floor. A loud knocking down the stairs on the front door was heard. "You are in so much trouble, you little prick. You goddamn…"

Jeff didn't finish. He took one blow to Randy's head and knocked him out.

"Randy!" Brad yelled and then winced as he got down on his knees to look over his brother. Mark was right next to him.

"You're both next…"

The front door burst opened and someone yelled, "Police!"

"You little sons of bitches." Jeff muttered. He grabbed the knocked-out Randy and dragged him to the bedroom. He reached out and grabbed Mark's arm and Brad by the hair. He shut the door and locked it.

"Its over, Uncle Jeff." Brad said softly. "Give it up."

"Shut up, Blondie."

"Jeff Taylor, we know your in there and have the three boys, Bradley, Randall, and Mark, in there with you. Open up or we will knock down the door."

"Go ahead you pricks!" Jeff yelled.

The door was knocked down and in came three police officers. They all had guns.

"Hands up!" One of them shouted.

"Boys, come on over here." The second said to Brad and Mark and Randy, even though Randy was still blacked-out.

Brad gently took Randy's arm and lifted him up. Mark quickly went to help his oldest brother.

"Jeff Taylor, get down on the floor, hands on your head. You have the right to remain silent, and anything you say will be used against you in a court of law." The first and third officers were handcuffing the boys' uncle.

"What's wrong with him?" The second officer asked when he saw Randy.

"He knocked him out." Mark whispered.

"Frank, get those boys down to the cruiser and call an ambulance. The blonde one is bleeding pretty good on his head."

"Come on, boys." The second officer, Frank, said. He called for an ambulance and then took Randy in his arms and walked downstairs.

The ambulance arrived quickly and the second officer went with the boys in it.

"Boys, I'm Officer Frank Ramsey. I need to ask you some questions if you don't mind."

"I can answer them." Brad said as a paramedic put some gauze over the bleeding gash from the buckle on the side of his temple.

"Can I first have your names and birthdays with the years of birth? Also, your current ages." Frank Ramsey asked.

"I-I'm Bradley Michael Taylor. My birthday is May 15, 1981. I'm almost eleven. Then is Randall Ethan Taylor. He's the one that's unconscious right now. His birthday is June 19, 1982. He's almost ten. Then that's Mark Timothy Taylor over there. His birthday is February 20, 1984. He's eight."

"Now…"

"Excuse me, Officer Ramsey, I'm kinda dizzy now." Brad said quietly since his head hurt.

The paramedic set it up so Brad could sit comfortably with a blanket draped around him. Mark sat right nest to him with a blanket wrapped around him. Randy was lying in the ambulance with a blanket draped over him up to his dirty bare chest. All three boys were in nothing but shorts and blood and grim were visible on their faces, chests, hands, legs and hair. But it was all going to change now.

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	4. Chapters 9 to 12

**Chapters 9-12 with minor tweaking and additions. Enjoy! **

_The Guardian_

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_April 1992_

_Two Weeks after Rescue_

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""_I-I'm Bradley Michael Taylor. My birthday is May 15, 1981. I'm almost eleven. Then is Randall Ethan Taylor. He's the one that's unconscious right now. His birthday is June 19, 1982. He's almost ten. Then that's Mark Timothy Taylor over there. His birthday is February 20, 1984. He's eight."_

"_Now…"_

"_Excuse me, Officer Ramsey, I'm kinda dizzy now." Brad said quietly since his head hurt._

_The paramedic set it up so Brad could sit comfortably with a blanket draped around him. Mark sat right nest to him with a blanket wrapped around him. Randy was lying in the ambulance with a blanket draped over him up to his dirty bare chest. All three boys were in nothing but shorts and blood and grim were visible on their faces, chests, hands, legs and hair. But it was all going to change now.__**"**_

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"Where will we go?" Brad asked quietly.

Their social worker, Jeanette Weimer, had just finished explaining about their uncle Jeff Taylor.

"Well, Bradley, you do have an aunt in Redondo Beach, California," Jeanette said. "Your mother's sister, Helen. She has agreed to let the three of you come and live with her."

"What about Uncle Marty?" Mark asked quietly.

"We talked to him about that, Mark," Jeanette said and straightened up in her chair. "He couldn't handle that financially. It's your Aunt Helen, or the three of you are in an orphanage."

Brad looked over at Randy. Randy hadn't spoken a word to him or Mark or anyone since Uncle Jeff beat him so violently a little more than two weeks ago. Brad wished Randy would say something, but the middle Taylor boy kept his head down, hair over his blue eyes and there was always an alert look on his sweet young face. There was only one time when Brad heard Randy talk, now, when he woke up screaming from a nightmare.

Mark and Randy both had nightmares. Mark would wake up crying quiet enough for none of the other kids in the ward to awake and want to sleep with Brad in his bed. Randy would scream "No, no, Uncle Jeff…Stop it!" or things like that, and Brad would have to shake him awake. Brad would let Randy cling to him for a minute as he whimpered for his mother, their mother. Then, Randy would lie back down after a few minutes and let Brad put the covers back on him. Randy wouldn't say another word.

"Your Aunt Helen has a fine home in Redondo Beach," Jeanette continued. "As you should know she is married to Jonathan Mason, your uncle. He's a brain surgeon, so he has a very good profession with a good salary. Your Aunt Helen owns her own little shop, and it does very well from these sales reports she gave me. They had three kids, all older than you. They have two girls, Jenna and Olivia. Jenna is sixteen and Olivia is fifteen. They have a son, Damian, who is thirteen. Have you ever met them?"

"No," Brad said. Aunt Helen? His mother talked about her sisters a lot but the boys rarely knew them or their kids and husbands. "Never met them."

"Your aunt and uncle are flying out here in a few days. They'll take the three of you back to California with them, and we'll give them a two month trial. How does that sound?"

Brad hated how Jeanette talked to them like they were three. He knew the seriousness of the situation, the sacrifices. He was sure Randy and Mark knew, too.

"Sounds good." Mark whispered. He kept his head down as well.

"Well, you still have a few days here," Jeanette said. They were all in the hospital's pediatric ward. Brad had suffered a light concussion, needed stitches on his forehead, plenty of bruising, two broken ribs and his knee was twisted enough where he had to where he had to wear a brace. Randy suffered a major concussion, plenty of bruising, a sprained arm, three broken ribs, some internal bleeding in the head and severe bruising on his lower back that needed 5 stitches. Mark had bruising like his brothers, but he also had a sprained shoulder, a twisted ankle, and he needed multiple stitches on an open gash on his back. There was broken skin on Brad, Randy, and Mark's backs but only Mark and Randy needed stitches on his. Brad's back was treated with antiseptic. All three Taylor boys had problems digesting food now since almost every meal they ate their uncle forced them to vomit it up.

"Now, I'll see you all tomorrow," Jeanette stuck some papers in her bag. "Let's head back to the ward so you can rest. It's about time for your dinner."

"Not hungry," Brad whispered.

"Well, you have to eat something," Jeanette said sternly. "You hardly ate breakfast, you didn't eat lunch. You'll eat dinner."

"I'm not hungry." Brad said again in a soft voice but Jeanette ignored him. Out in the hall a nurse, Nurse Florence, waited for the boys.

"Come on," The nurse said with a smile. "You three need a bath before dinner."

A bath. They had just started bathing again for the first time in months a week and a half ago. Uncle Jeff didn't want to waste water on them. He didn't want to waste food or space or a few minutes of his time on his nephews.

Nurse Florence led the three Taylor boys to the bathroom in the pediatric ward. She had them undress and each boy got into a separate bathtub. There was no one else in the large bathroom but Nurse Florence, Brad, Randy, and Mark. Randy and Mark sat in trance in their bathtubs. Nurse Florence professionally washed Randy and Mark's hair with cheap shampoo. Brad cleaned his hair by himself. The nurse washed Randy, as always, since he wouldn't lift a finger. Mark rubbed soap around on his chest but he seemed distracted. Brad watched his younger brothers with much concern as he washed himself. Fifteen minutes later, Nurse Florence told the boys to stand up so she could wrap a towel around each of them.

"I have good news for you boys," Nurse Florence said with a kind smile on her face. "I have new pajamas for each of you. "For Mark, you little cutie, I have dinosaur pajamas. Here you go, cutie. And here's some clean underwear."

"Thank you." Mark whispered. He began pulling on the white underwear and green and red dinosaur pajamas.

"And for Randy, I have pajamas with the planets on them. I saw you watching the Discovery Channel yesterday. You little smarty-pants. Here's some underwear the pajamas." Nurse Florence cooed at Randy.

Randy didn't say anything and just looked at the floor, but there was a visible annoyed expression on his face under his hair. Brad felt steamed and said, "Randy's not a baby. You don't need to talk to him like that just because he isn't talking."

"Brad, don't sass me," Nurse Florence ordered with a little look of frustration. Then a smile appeared back on her face. "Now, Brad, here's pajamas for you. Its sports. Look, baseball, basketball, hockey, soccer…"

"Thanks for these." Brad said quietly and slowly pulled on the underwear. "We needed them."

"Well, now," The nurse said. "Time for dinner. Go on back to your beds and I'll get your trays."

The boys walked slowly back to bed after changing. Brad waited until Randy and Mark were in their beds so he could tuck the sheets around them. Then he climbed into his own bed.

"Brad, do we have to go to Aunt Helen's?" Mark asked quietly.

"We got nowhere else to go, buddy," Brad said. "Sorry."

"Okay, sweet boys," Nurse Florence said when she walked in. She had three trays. "Tonight's dinner is chicken noodle soup, ham sandwiches, and there's a special dessert. Lime Jell-o! Dig in."

"Not hungry," Mark whispered.

"Mark Taylor, you eat that dinner." Nurse Florence said. "Now, I have to go check on another patient, so eat that and then you have to go to sleep."

Randy put his tray on the table next to him and lay down. Within the next three minutes he was asleep. Mark ate a tiny bit of the soup and pushed the tray away. He fell asleep as well. Brad didn't know how his little brothers could sleep. Little kids were running around the room, jumping on the beds and playing with trucks or dolls or watching TV.

Brad ate a quarter of his ham sandwich and put the tray aside. He took a sip of water from the plastic cup at his bedside and lay down. Soon he was asleep but now for long.

Five hours later, it was ten o'clock at night and all the children in the pediatric ward were in bed. Randy was restless. Jeff was chasing him down the hall…He caught him and starting slapping him…The belt came out…Screaming was heard…Randy heard a crack…He saw Mark and Brad lying on the floor…He saw blood…Randy couldn't tell whose blood it was…Jeff came to him with the belt raised high…

Brad's eyes snapped open at Randy's screams. He looked over at Randy and jumped out of bed, ignoring the slight pain in his head. He gathered Randy in his arms and ignored the other children's cries and yells.

"Shut up over there!"

"Dammit, Taylor, do something about your kid brother!"

"Man, I can't wait for them to leave all ready! I haven't slept in days!"

"Shut up!" Mark said boldly, something very unlike Mark. Mark was at Randy's side as well.

"C'mon, Randy, its okay…Just a nightmare, buddy…Wake up…"

Randy woke up but kept shaking and crying. He whimpered, "Mom…Mom…Don't let him hurt us…I want my mom…No…no…"

"Shh now," Brad whispered. He stroked Randy's sweat-soaked light brown hair with his hand like his mother used to when he or one of his brothers had a nightmare. "Randy, you don't have to be scared…Nothing to be scared of…We'll play whatever game you want tomorrow, okay? Me and you and Mark." He tried to comfort his little brother with promises and soft words like his father would've done.

Randy looked up at Brad with scared eyes.

"You okay now?" Brad asked gently.

Randy nodded, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Try and sleep then," Brad said quietly and let Randy lay back on the pillow. "These kids are gunna riot if this happens anymore. We'll work on the nightmares, okay? Uncle Jeff can't hurt you in your dreams. Remember that."

Randy nodded again and let Brad pull the sheet up on his chin. Brad told Mark to go back to bed. All the other kids quieted down and went back to sleep. The only ones awake were the Taylor boys, all thinking about their uncle.

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_The Guardian_

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_This chapter is dedicated to my new baby cousin, Morgan, and Joey for being a new big brother! Love you guys!_

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_April 1992_

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"_Randy woke up but kept shaking and crying. He whimpered, "Mom…Mom…Don't let him hurt us…I want my mom…No…no…"_

"_Shh now," Brad whispered. He stroked Randy's sweat-soaked light brown hair with his hand like his mother used to when he or one of his brothers had a nightmare. "Randy, you don't hare to be scared…Nothing to be scared of…We'll play whatever game you want tomorrow, okay? Me and you and Mark." He tried to comfort his little brother with promises and soft words like his father would've done._

_Randy looked up at Brad with scared eyes. _

"_You okay now?" Brad asked gently._

_Randy nodded._

"_Try and sleep then," Brad said quietly and let Randy lay back on the pillow. "These kids are gunna riot if this happens anymore. We'll work on the nightmares, okay? Uncle Jeff can't hurt you in your dreams. Remember that."_

_Randy nodded again and let Brad pull the sheet up on his chin. Brad told Mark to go back to bed. All the other kids quieted down and went back to sleep. The only ones awake were the Taylor boys, all thinking about their uncle.__**"**_

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Brad, Randy, and Mark's Aunt Helen and Uncle Jonathan flew in from California within the next three days. Their three children, Jenna, Olivia and Damian, had stayed in California with one of Uncle Jonathan's sisters. They met at the Pediatrics Ward where the three Taylor boys were.

"Oh, Lord, look at them, Jon." Helen gasped. She and Jonathan were looking through the glass at the boys. All the other children were playing in the room. Brad, Randy, and Mark were all on Brad's bed. Mark and Brad were playing a card game while Randy watched them with an alert look. "Why didn't come out sooner? We didn't even make it Jill and Tim's funeral…I'm a horrible person, Jon. My sister's own boys…"

"We couldn't do anything, Helen." Jonathan assured his wife. "Back in May when your sister and Tim…well, passed, we didn't have the money to fly out to Michigan. That's when I was in the middle of switching jobs. We sent some money for the boys' education and some flowers for Jill and Tim. We're here now."

"I guess, but we could've done something right from the start," Helen Mason sniffed. "One of us could've flown out at the least. I thought Jeffrey Taylor was a nice man. All of Tim's family seemed polite and fun at their wedding. People can fool you."

"Mr. and Mrs. Mason," The Taylor boys' main doctor, Dr. Bryan Leslie, approached the couple. "I'm glad to see you both have arrived. Maybe you can talk to Bradley, Randall, and Mark."

"What's wrong with them?" Helen asked. "You only told us so much over the phone."

"Bradley still feels he must protect his younger brothers. This of course isn't a bad thing but if we say one thing, he'll tell his brothers something else. He's very secretive. Our therapist hasn't been able to get one detail out of him. Mark flinches at everything. He stutters, he seems too afraid to look over his shoulder. None of them will speak with the therapist. Their eating habits are horrible. Their sleeping habits have plummeted from average to hardly any sleep during the night. Randall is the worst. He refuses to talk and only speaks when he wakes up from a nightmare. That doesn't last long. All three of them have nightmares. Randall won't talk to anyone, otherwise. Not even his brothers. We don't know how to get through to them. We hope you both can."

"Well, I hardly know these boys," Helen said. "We live in California, these boys grew up in Michigan. We saw them once when they were all little, and we send pictures every year but we never got together. I regret that greatly now."

"Is there anything else we should know, Doctor?" Jonathan asked.

"You'll notice there's still bruising and some stitches on all three boys," Dr. Leslie said. "I'll prescribe some anxiety pills for the boys in case they should wake up from a nightmare and start breathing hard or screaming. Sometimes Randall will yell for a good hour before he calms down. Whatever their uncle did to those boys…He's a monster, is all I can say to that…You may both go in and introduce yourselves to the boys."

"Thank you, Doctor." Helen said.

The door opened to the Pediatric Ward. Helen slowly walked in, and strolled over to Brad, Randy, and Mark. Brad noticed first. He put down the cards that had been in his hands and stared. Randy and Mark turned around and stared, too.

"Hello, boys," Helen said with a smile. She sat down on the bed next to Brad's, Randy's bed. "I'm your aunt Helen, your mother's older sister. This is your Uncle Jonathan. My God, I haven't seen you boys since you were toddlers and babies."

"That's great." Brad mumbled. "And you're just going to take us away now? Make everything better? You can't just do that when you hardly know us."

"Well, let me get to know you boys," Helen said softly. "Please, Brad, all your uncle and I want to do is help. Right, Jon?"

"Boys, we want to help you get everything back on track, start over." Jonathan said.

"Why didn't you help us a year ago when we first got sent to Uncle Jeff's?" Brad demanded.

"I-I didn't know." Helen said quietly.

"That's because you never called or bothered to write," Brad snapped. "You just sent some card to us, saying how sorry you were but sorry didn't bring our mom and dad back. And you didn't even come to the funeral. How do we know to trust you?"

Helen couldn't find an answer for that. Brad just shook his head and stood up. So did Randy and Mark.

"I thought you couldn't answer that." Brad whispered. Then he walked over to the other side of the room to watch TV. Randy and Mark were right behind him. Helen and Jon just sat there. This was going to be tough.

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_The Guardian_

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_April 1992_

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""_Hello, boys," Helen said with a smile. She sat down on the bed next to Brad's, Randy's bed. "I'm your aunt Helen, your mother's older sister. This is your Uncle Jonathan. My God, I haven't seen you boys since you were toddlers and babies."_

"_That's great." Brad mumbled. "And you're just going to take us away now? Make everything better? You can't just do that when you hardly know us."_

"_Well, let me get to know you boys," Helen said softly. "Please, Brad, all your uncle and I want to do is help. Right, Jon?"_

"_Boys, we want to help you get everything back on track, start over." Jonathan said. _

"_Why didn't you help us a year ago when we first got sent to Uncle Jeff's?" Brad demanded._

"_I-I didn't know." Helen said quietly._

"_That's because you never called or bothered to write," Brad snapped. "You just sent some card to us, saying how sorry you were but sorry didn't bring our mom and dad back. And you didn't even come to the funeral. How do we know to trust you?"_

_Helen couldn't find an answer for that. Brad just shook his head and stood up. So did Randy and Mark._

"_I thought you couldn't answer that." Brad whispered. Then he walked over to the other side of the room to watch TV. Randy and Mark were right behind him. Helen and Jon just sat there. This was going to be tough.__**"**_

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"Jon, what are we going to do?" Helen Mason paced in their hotel room the same night. "They don't trust us, especially Brad. How can we say that we're taking them home with us when they don't even trust us? Brad hates us. All three of them do."

"We just need to get to know them, Helen," Jon assured his wife. "We barely know them and they barely know us. We just need a little time to talk to all them, individually. Don't stress out about this so much."

"How can I not, Jon? This is a huge deal. We'll have three more children in the house, they've been abused in God-Knows-How many different ways. They won't talk to a therapist or anyone about what happened with that uncle of theirs. Randy's having nightmares. They're probably confused…"

"Okay, okay, Helen," Jon got up from the bed and massaged his wife's shoulders. "If you get stressed out, you'll just stress the boys out even more. We of all people need to be as calm as possible. For them."

"You're right, Jon," Helen collapsed into a hug. "You're right. I just want them to know I'm not going to hurt them…I don't know what to say."

"You'll know when it comes," Jon said confidently. "Now, let's go to bed. We'll go back to the hospital in the morning and see them. We'll talk to them."

"Okay. Let's get some sleep. Oh Lord, I hope the boys will sleep well."

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Helen hoped with all her heart that Brad, Randy, and Mark would all get a good night's sleep but it was a pipe dream. Around midnight Randy woke up screaming again. Brad was right out of his bed and sitting on Randy's. He pulled Randy right next to him and whispered soft things in his ear to calm him down. The Taylor boys ignored the other kids' protests and complaints now. It wasn't worth it, telling them to shut up.

"M-Mom." Randy whimpered. He was sweating and clutching Brad's pajama top in a death grip. "Wh-where's Mom?"

"You know where Mom is, Randy." Brad whispered.

"Mom's with the angels, Randy." Mark said quietly with a yawn.

Randy's eyes widened a little and then half closed. He stopped whimpering, stopped talking, but he still gripped Brad's shirt. The look in his blue eyes said to Brad to stay.

"I'll stay with you until you go back to sleep, okay?" Brad whispered. "I promise. Just go to sleep and I'll be right here."

"Me too, Randy," Mark said. "I won't leave you."

Randy wouldn't say it. He felt like a baby. He understood his older brother comforting him, but his little brother? Randy didn't say anything though. Randy lay back in Brad's arms and tried not to quiver. He was a little glad both his brothers cared. He knew they were both just as scared as him.

"Hey, Brad?" Mark asked.

"Yeah?" Brad whispered.

"Do you think Aunt Helen and Uncle Jon will come back tomorrow?" Mark asked quietly.

"Probably, why?"

"I think she seemed nice." Mark said, laying down on Randy's bed next to randy and leaning on his elbow.

"Don't let people fool you, Mark. Uncle Jeff used to be nice and look what he did to us. Keep your guard up when they come by next time. You too, Randy." Brad whispered.

"Okay." Mark whispered, but Randy was sound asleep. Brad knew if he had been awake, Randy would've given a small head nod. Neither wanted to be hurt anymore.

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_The Guardian_

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_April 1992_

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""_Do you think Aunt Helen and Uncle Jon will come back tomorrow?" Mark asked quietly._

"_Probably. Why?" _

"_I think she seemed nice." Mark said, laying down on Randy's bed next to randy and leaning on his elbow. _

"_Don't let people fool you, Mark. Uncle Jeff used to be nice and look what he did to us. Keep your guard up when they come by next time. You too, Randy." Brad whispered._

"_Okay." Mark whispered and even Randy nodded a little. Neither wanted to be hurt anymore.__**"**_

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Helen and Jon Mason did come by the next day. Brad rolled his eyes when they walked in and came over to their beds.

"Hi, boys," Their Uncle Jon said. "How're you today?"

"O-okay." Mark stammered.

"That's good." Helen Mason said. "Randy, Brad, how are boys doing?"

Randy didn't even nod, Brad just shrugged.

"I have a present for each of you," Helen said. She pulled out of a large brown a good sized red and blue plastic Tonka truck. "This is for you, Mark."

"Awesome." Mark said. He took the truck and stared at it. He hadn't had a new toy or any toys in months. The hospital had toys, but they weren't his. "Th-thank y-you, Aunt Helen a-and Uncle J-Jonathan."

"You're welcome, buddy." Jon Mason said. "And for Randy," He pulled out a bag of jacks. "You and your brothers can play."

Randy gave a small portion of his award winning smile, which was enough for his aunt and uncle.

"And for you, Brad," Helen pulled out a mini basketball net that was made to go on the wall and small basketball to go with it. "Your mother always was telling us how much you loved sports." She said that slowly.

Brad stared at it for a minute. He used to have one of these when Mom and Dad were still alive. Were these people for real? Or was this a trick? Did his Aunt Helen and Uncle Jonathan really want to help him, Randy and Mark? When Brad saw their smiling faces, both his brothers' and his aunt and uncle's, something warm lit inside of him like when his parents were alive.

Brad looked up at his uncle and aunt and said, "Thank you for these. Really."

"It was no problem, Brad," Helen said. "I just…I just want you boys to be able to talk to us. I can't change the past and I can't change actions and decisions that were already made and done. But I can do something now. We'll take baby steps to get there. What do you say? Can you give us a small chance?"

Mark agreed right away. Aunt Helen and Uncle Jonathan reminded him of his parents. Helen looked like his mother and had the same qualities. Randy looked at Brad. Brad looked at Randy. Randy needed some kind of help, Brad knew it and these hospital nurses and that therapist weren't helping any of them. Randy wouldn't even talk to him, only when he had nightmares.

"Baby steps," Brad said slowly. "But we don't have to go with you if we don't like you."

"Yea." Mark agreed, though he liked Helen and Jon. "Do you have any kids, Aunt Helen?"

"We have three kids," Helen said, slowly rubbing Mark's blond-brown hair. "Jenna, Olivia and Damian. Jenna is 16, Olivia is 15, and Damian is 13. They're older than all of you."

"No kids my age?" Mark said, a little disappointed.

"No, sweetheart." Helen said. "But they're fun kids. We have kids around your age in our neighborhood."

Brad and Randy listened to Helen, Mark, and Jon chat. Mark, being only 8, was a little chatterbox and a Mama's boy and a Daddy's boy by nature. Both older brothers knew Mark was probably overjoyed a new mother-figure was in their lives.

_We'll see. _Brad thought. His main concerns were his brothers and now he didn't know what to do. He wondered what his parents would do.

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	5. Chapters 13 and 14

**Chapters 13 and 14. Next chapters will be written by yours truly! **** Enjoy!**

_The Guardian_

888888

_April 1992_

888888

"_Brad and Randy listened to Helen, Mark, and Jon chat. Mark, being only 8, was a little chatterbox and a Mama's boy and a Daddy's boy by nature. Both older brothers knew Mark was probably overjoyed a new mother-figure was in their lives. _

_We'll see. Brad thought. His main concerns were his brothers and now he didn't know what to do. He wondered what his parents would do.__**"**_

888888

Helen and Jon were asked to leave so the pediatrics ward could rest. Mark played with his new truck on the floor in his dinosaur pajamas. Randy was playing with the jacks. Even Brad had set up the little basketball net so it would lean at the end of his bed.

"I like them a lot," Mark said.

"You only like them because they gave you a new toy." Brad said.

"They're a lot nicer than Uncle Jeff." Mark said. "Aunt Helen and Uncle Jon are really nice. They have kids."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Brad said. He turned to Randy. "Did you like them, Randy?"

Randy shrugged.

"Got anything to say?" Brad asked. "Anything at all?"

Randy ignored him and continued playing with the jacks.

"Whatever, Randy." Brad said, exasperated.

A nurse came in then. "Bradley, it's time for you to see Dr. Jensen." Dr. Robert Jensen was the hospital psychiatrist.

"No thanks." The almost eleven-year-old said. "He's no help."

"That's because you won't give it a chance," The nurse said, agitated. It had been a long shift for her. "Put on your robe and come with me."

"I want to stay with my brothers." Brad said firmly.

"We've been through this before, Bradley. Your brothers are fine while you are gone. It's only for half an hour."

"No," Brad said. "You can't make me."

The nurse grabbed Brad's robe, a blue and white striped hospital robe, and made her way to his bed.

"Sit up please, so I can help you with the robe."

"I don't want help, I don't need help." Brad said. "If a person doesn't want help, they can't be helped. My mom told me that and I believe her more than you. My mom was a practicing therapist."

"Then you should know everyone needs to discuss their problems." The nurse said. "Sit up, Bradley."

"I told you no. I won't go." Brad said.

The nurse, out of her agitation, grabbed Brad's arm and yanked him upward to a sitting position. Brad flinched right away and whimpered as her nails dug into an old bruise. She was about to scold him when another nurse ran in. She had seen what the other nurse had just done.

"Amy, what do you think your doing? He's a child! You don't treat any patient like this." The nurse, Nurse Rachel Hardy, said to Nurse Amy.

"He won't go to his therapy session with Dr. Jensen." Amy said, irritated. She had let go of Brad. Now he and his two younger brothers were glaring at her.

"If he doesn't want to go we can't force him," Rachel Hardy said. "We can only ask him. He can't get help if he doesn't want it."

"I told you so." Brad snapped at Nurse Amy.

"Go on your break," Nurse Rachel said. "And I guarantee we'll be talking to Dr. Ramos about this incident."

Amy went out, extremely pissed. Brad looked from her to Nurse Rachel and said, "Thank you."

"It's not right for any nurse to do that to a patient," Rachel said. "I'll ask you once though. Do you want to go to Dr. Jensen? You've gone before without a problem."

"Those other times were with Randy and Mark. The one time I went by myself, I didn't talk anyway." Brad said.

"Alright then." Rachel sighed. "Then why don't you get ready for a bath? All three of you."

"Can I bring my new truck in there?" Mark asked Rachel.

"Mark, you'll ruin the tires on it," Brad said before Rachel could. "You don't want to ruin it, do you?"

"No," Mark said.

"Come on," Rachel said quietly. "Let's get the baths over with so you can have dinner and get ready for bed. Your aunt and uncle are stopping by again tomorrow."

"Yay!" Mark cheered. Brad said Randy smile a little. Seeing his two little brothers happy to see someone made him happy. But he still had to keep his guard up. For Randy and Mark.

888888

"That nurse did what?" Helen Mason said, exasperated. She and Jon had just been told how Nurse Amy Holloway had yanked Brad's arm because she was irritated.

"We talked with our head supervisor, Dr. Ramos. Amy is going to be having a little time off. She won't be in the children's ward anymore." Rachel Hardy said. "Not only did Mark and Randy see this, but so did most of the children in pediatrics."

"Thank you for that," Jon said. "And Brad refused to go to the therapist?"

"Yes, he did," Rachel said. "He'll only go with his brothers and even then neither of them will say anything. We can get Mark to talk about anything except what happened at their uncle's. Randy still won't talk. He'll nod once in a while. Brad is very opinionated, very protective. We don't know how to get through to them."

"Maybe if we can get to know them a little better, we can get through to them." Helen said. "Maybe once they get to know us, they'll say something. We can try to get Randy to talk again. I'm sure he has a beautiful voice like his brothers. Please, Miss Hardy?"

The nurse looked at Helen and Jonathan. Both looked hopeful, sincere.

"We want to be able to take our nephews home with us and let them start having their childhood back," Helen continued. "We want to raise them like our own but they have to trust us. We have to know them."

"I can probably pull a few strings," Rachel said. "No promises. I can try and get the five of you a private room for a couple hours a day so you can spend time with your nephews. I have a soft spot for those boys. I want to see them be happy, too. I'll talk to Dr. Ramos."

"Thank you, Miss Hardy," Helen said cheerfully. Jon stood from his chair and shook Rachel's hand.

"Can we go see the boys now, Miss Hardy?" Jon asked.

"Of course. I'll talk to Dr. Ramos today and talk to you tomorrow about his decisions."

"Thank you again, Miss Hardy," Jonathan said and Helen agreed happily.

"Go on and see your nephews." Rachel said with a smile. "I'll talk to you later."

Helen and Jonathan left that office with big smiles on their faces. They were moving a step ahead to help their nephews.

888888

_The Guardian_

888888

_April 1992_

888888

""_We want to be able to take our nephews home with us and let them start having their childhood back," Helen continued. "We want to raise them like our own but they have to trust us. We have to know them."_

"_I can probably pull a few strings," Rachel said. "No promises. I can try and get the five of you a private room for a couple hours a day so you can spend time with your nephews. I have a soft spot for those boys. I want to see them be happy, too. I'll talk to Dr. Ramos."_

"_Thank you, Miss Hardy," Helen said cheerfully. Jon stood from his chair and shook Rachel's hand. _

"_Can we go see the boys now, Miss Hardy?" Jon asked._

"_Of course. I'll talk to Dr. Ramos today and talk to you tomorrow about his decisions."_

"_Thank you again, Miss Hardy," Jonathan said and Helen agreed happily. _

"_Go on and see your nephews." Rachel said with a smile. "I'll talk to you later."_

_Helen and Jonathan left that office with big smiles on their faces. They were moving a step ahead to help their nephews.__**"**_

888888

"Hello, boys," Helen sat on Randy's bed. "How are you today?"

"I'm good," Mark said. He slid off his bed and went over to Helen. He placed his small hand on her knee. "A mean nurse grabbed Brad."

"We heard, bud," Jonathan said and gently rubbed Mark's head. "It's getting taken care of. Are you okay, Brad?"

Brad shrugged. "I've dealt with worse."

Helen decided to change the subject. "Boys, your uncle and I were wondering if we could go to a therapy session with you. The one you have a t 12:30 today. Would you feel comfortable with that?"

"I am." Mark said. Randy didn't say anything. Brad looked at his brothers and said, "If Mark and Randy want you there, it's fine with me."

"Okay," Jonathan said. "Randy, are you comfortable with that?"

Brad looked at his brother and whispered, "Its okay, to talk, Randy."

Randy blinked, which they took as a yes.

"Okay, it's settled," Helen said. "Tomorrow is when we all go to see the therapist. I just want you boys to be able to try and trust us. We're good people."

"That's what they said about Uncle Jeff." Mark said.

"We aren't lying to you, sweetie," Helen ran her hand gently over Mark's hair. "We would never lie to you, Randy, or Brad."

"Promise?" Mark said.

"I promise," Both Helen and Jonathan said.

"Good," Mark said. "I'm sick of lies."

"We want to be able to get to know you boys," Jonathan said. "Dr. Ramos is considering the idea of giving us a private room to talk. It would be better than in here with all these other kids running around and yelling, wouldn't it?"

"I guess," Brad said. Randy nodded.

"I want to do that," Mark said. "When can we leave the hospital?"

"We aren't sure yet, sweetheart," Helen said. "We'll work that out once we all get to know each other better, okay?"

"Okay," Mark said. "I'll tell you about me now. I'm Mark Timothy Taylor, I'm eight years old. My birthday is February 20, 1984. Dad told me I was named Mark because it means martial and warlike."

"I can't see a sweet little boy like you being anything like war." Helen said with a smile.

"Mom also liked the name Mark," Brad told his youngest brother.

"I like Dad's reason better." Mark said. "My favorite color is red, I love cars…Aunt Helen, if we go with you, can I help you make cookies? I used to help Mommy."

"Of course, Mark," Helen said. She smiled at her youngest nephew.

"Good," Mark said. "I like chocolate chip, Randy likes peanut butter cookies, and Brad like oatmeal cookies."

"Good to know," Helen said. A nurse walked in then. She smiled at Helen, Jon and the boys.

"Its time for Bradley, Randall, and Marcus to eat, as well as all the other children. You can come back in a few hours. After the kids eat, they rest for a couple hours."

"Of course." Helen said.

"I want you to stay, Aunt Helen," Mark begged.

"Be a good boy, Mark," Helen said. She kissed Mark on the forehead. "Your uncle and I will come back in a few hours. We have a few errands to run anyway."

Helen kissed Randy on the forehead and then Brad, though the oldest shied away. Helen noticed but pretended she hadn't.

"Please eat your food," Helen said to her nephews. "And sleep. You need the nourishment and proper rest to get better."

"I'll eat everything, even the vegetables." Mark said. "I promise."

"I know you will," Helen said. She did not want to leave her nephews. She wanted to spend more time with them.

"Come on, Helen," Jon said. "We'll come back later, boys. Be good."

"Okay," Brad said softly.

After they left and the boys were back in their own separate beds, Mark said to his older brothers, "I want to go live with them. They're like Mommy and Daddy."

"We'll see, Mark." Brad said. "We'll see."

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	6. Chapter 15

**First chapter written by me! Enjoy!**

_Helen kissed Randy on the forehead and then Brad, though the oldest shied away. Helen noticed but pretended she hadn't._

_"Please eat your food," Helen said to her nephews. "And sleep. You need the nourishment and proper rest to get better."_

_"I'll eat everything, even the vegetables." Mark said. "I promise."_

_"I know you will," Helen said. She did not want to leave her nephews. She wanted to spend more time with them._

_"Come on, Helen," Jon said. "We'll come back later, boys. Be good."_

_"Okay," Brad said softly._

_After they left and the boys were back in their own separate beds, Mark said to his older brothers, "I want to go live with them. They're like Mommy and Daddy."_

_"We'll see, Mark." Brad said. "We'll see."_

888888

_The Guardian_

_88888_

_April 1992_

A nurse had brought in the lunches: turkey sandwiches, tomato soup, and water, to the pediatric ward. Randy ignored his as usual. Mark had a few nibbles of the sandwich and went back to his toy truck. Trying to be a good example for his younger brothers, Brad ate half of his sandwich and soup. When he was done, he sat on his bed, thinking. He missed the sound of Randy's voice. He missed his jokes and smart alec remarks. Brad would never tell anyone, but he was kind of happy when Randy woke up screaming from his nightmares. Not that he didn't wish the nightmares would go away, but it always gave him a little hope when he heard Randy's screaming voice. He felt terrible about these thoughts, but couldn't help it. He just missed his little brother's voice. Brad looked over at Randy, whose bed was on the left of his. He didn't know what to do. It wasn't like Randy wasn't able to talk or was catatonic. Brad didn't know what was wrong with Randy. Eventually, Brad drifted into sleep, still thinking about his little brother.

Randy sat on his bed. He saw Brad was sleeping, and apparently Mark did too. Not having Brad to annoy, Mark came over to Randy's bed. "I like Aunt Helen and Uncle Jon! Don't you?" he asked Randy at lightning speed. Randy shrugged, but there was a small hint of a smile on his face. "I think it'll be fun to go live with them. I bet they have great toys! Does it snow in California? I hope it does! I love the snow! It's so much fun to sled and have snowball fights!" If Randy had been talking, he would have told Mark to 'stop being such a dork, of course it doesn't snow in California', but he wasn't, so he just shook his head. "Oh… Well that's okay! We can still have fun! Don't you think so?" The rest of the afternoon in the hospital went on like that; Mark chatting away and Randy pretending to listen.

_~At Helen and Jons' Hotel Room~_

"Hi, Jenna. How are you?" Helen asked into the phone.

"I'm fine. What about you?"

"Well, I'm fine, but we're having trouble working with the boys."

"What do you mean?" Jenna asked.

"Mark loves us, Randy won't talk, and Brad hates us."

"Wait, who's who?"

"Mark is the youngest, Randy's the middle, and Brad is the oldest. But that's not what I called to talk about. How are things at home?"

"Fine."

"What are you doing now?" Helen asked her daughter.

"I'm… Having a healthy lunch," Jenna hastily replied while licking cupcake icing from her fingers.

"Oh, that's good. Where are your siblings?" Helen asked, fooled.

"They're… studying science," Jenna replied looking at her siblings, who were trying to get marshmallows to stick to the kitchen ceiling. She still didn't understand why her parents believed they were old and mature enough to stay home alone while they were half way across the country, but she was good with it.

"Oh, then I won't bother them. Your dad's in the shower, but we'll call back later. Love you, Sweetie."

"Love you too, Mom," Jenna replied.

"Bye."

"Bye."

_~That Night at the Hospital~_

It was a little past one a.m. when Brad awoke to the screams of his brother. "No! No, please! Please, Uncle Jeff!" Quickly, Brad ran over to Randy's bed and tried to shake him awake.

"Randy, Randy wake up! It's just a dream! Wake up!"

"Mom! Mom! I want Mom!" Randy cried, trying to get out of Brad's grasp.

"Mom's not here right now, Randy, you know that."

"I don't want you! I want Mom!"

"Taylor, get you brother to shut up!" a kid yelled across the room.

"Yeah! He should be locked up somewhere!" someone else added.

Brad could see the tears forming in his younger brother's eyes. "Shut up!" he yelled. "You don't know what he's been through or what he's put up with or anything! So just shut up!"

The yells started to die down after his outburst, and Brad returned his focus to Randy. "Don't listen to them, Randy, they're just stupid kids. You're the bravest person I know," he said, trying to stop Randy's sobs.

"What's going on?" asked Mark with a yawn, as he climbed out of his bed.

"Nothing, Mark, go back to bed. Okay?"

"Aww! I always miss everything," Mark complained as he stumbled back to his bed.

Eventually, Randy's cries stopped. As Brad sat there, holding his brother, he thought of the first night in the hospital…

_ The ambulance pulled in to the Emergency Entrance, and the boys were carted out of the ambulance on stretchers. As far as Brad could tell, he was the only one of the boys that was awake. Mark and fallen asleep on the short ride and Randy was still unconscious from the beating._

_ They were put in a big room that had curtains dividing off sections to make mini rooms. Each boy was in there own section, but the curtains were pulled back so they could seen each other. "Sweetie," a nurse said to Brad, "I'm going to put this IV in you okay? It won't hurt a bit." The nurse had already hooked Randy and Mark up to IV's and with one quick prick, Brad was connected to one of his own. The medicine in the IV made him slowly become drowsy, but he was still very aware of what was going on around him. A doctor entered the room and went to Randy first because he was the one in the worst shape. _

_After some poking and prodding, the doctor looked up at the nurse that had followed him. "All I can tell right now, is that he has some broken ribs. We'll need x-rays to confirm. His lower back is severely bruised and he'll need stitches for these cuts," he said pointing out some of the worse cuts to the nurse, "and from what his older brother told us, there is a good chance of paralysis. Of course, we can't be sure until he wakes up. Also do a CAT scan and a MRI to check for any internal bleeding." He moved onto Mark next. "He needs stitches as well," he said pointing at Marks back, "Take x-rays on his shoulder and ankle. They look swollen." Lastly, the doctor came over to Brad. "Well, hello," he said. "I would have thought you'd have fallen asleep by now," he told Brad._

"_Are my brothers okay?" Brad asked._

"_Don't worry about them. They're in good hands. Now let's take a look at you. You're going to need stitches right here, on your forehead. Don't worry, we'll numb the area. You're chest is pretty bruised. We'll x-ray it to check for broken ribs. I can tell right away that you're knee will need a brace, but we'll still get an x-ray." _

_The next day, they had been put in the ICU section of the hospital. It was just the three of them in the room, but Randy wasn't there. The CAT scan had shown internal bleeding in his head, and he was in surgery getting it fixed. Brad was worried about his brother. He didn't want to lose him, too, and didn't want Mark to worry, either. To make matters worse, Randy still hadn't regained consciousness, so no one knew if he was paralyzed yet._

_At that moment, Randy was wheeled back into the room on his bed. "Is everything okay?" Brad asked the surgeon who had wheeled Randy in._

"_His surgery was fine. I'm guessing he'll wake up in a few hours. You just rest, okay?"_

"'_Kay,'" Brad mumbled._

_~4 hours later~_

_Brad had been staring at Randy's bed for the last four hours. Nothing was happening. Suddenly, Randy blinked. "Randy!" Brad cried._

"_Br-Brad?" Randy asked, slowly sitting up._

_Relief flooded through Brad's body. His little brother wasn't paralyzed! "Randy, you're not paralyzed!" Mark exclaimed._

"_Mark? What's going on? Where am I? Where are Mom and Dad?"_

"_Don't, don't you remember?" Brad questioned._

"_Remember what? Why am I here? What is this place?"_

"_You don't remember anything? Nothing? Nothing about Uncle Jeff?" _

"_Uncle Jeff? What does he have to do with anything? Are we going to his house?"_

"_What's the last thing you remember?"_

"_Umm… Mom and Dad leaving for dinner. I thought we were going to watch scary movies! Why are we here?" Randy asked. Brad choked up. He had been descrbing the night his parents died and was seriously terrified. He hit the button by his bed that called the nurse, and their personal nurse, Shelby, was there in no time. "Yes, Brad? What is it? Oh! You're brother's awake!"_

"_Nurse Shelby, he doesn't remember anything!" Brad wailed._

_The nurse had gotten a doctor who told Brad his brother just had a concussion. It would most likely go away in a week, max. Every day, Brad had asked Randy if he remembered, and every day, Randy would say a confused no. That ended about 5 days later. Randy had his first nightmare and Brad asked if he remembered. Randy whimpered a small, 'yes', and hadn't spoken since._


	7. Chapter 16 A Lot to Think About

**A/N: Hey, everybody! Since it took me so long to update! I promised to be better about that once summer starts! **** Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter that I wrote. Here's more to the story.**

_Every day, Brad had asked Randy if he remembered, and every day, Randy would say a confused no. That ended about 5 days later. Randy had his first nightmare and Brad asked if he remembered. Randy whimpered a small, 'yes', and hadn't spoken since._

_~The Next Morning At Hospital (End of Flashback)_

Helen and Jon walked into the pediatric ward at 10 a.m. "Good morning, boys," Helen said.

"Hi, Aunt Helen! Hi, Uncle Jon!" Mark greeted happily.

"Hi," Brad replied.

Randy stared at the floor. That was all he had done the entire morning. Brad knew it was because of what had happened last night. Mostly because of the remark about being a nutcase. "Well, we get to have a private chatting room today! Won't that be fun?" Helen asked the boys.

"Yup!" Mark exclaimed happily.

"I guess," Brad replied.

"We aren't scheduled to use it for another 10 minutes, so we can hang it out here for a while. We need to talk about your rooms. Jenna and Olivia agreed to share a room you, so you can all have separate rooms. Olivia only has a little more than 1 year at home, so it all works out. Would you like having your own rooms?"

"Yeah! I had my own room at home!" Mark cried happily.

"Really? That's cool. What do you want your room to be decorated like?" Jon asked.

"Hmm… Maybe-"

"Wait. I thought we were just living there for a month and then deciding if we want to stick around. Why are we talking about rooms?" Brad cut off Mark.

"Well, while you're at our house, we want you to feel as comfortable as possible. We thought you might _enjoy_ getting to choose how you want your room," Helen told him.

"I guess that makes sense…"

Trying to change the subject, Helen looked at her watch. "Oh! It's time for us to go to our private room! Come on, guys. Let's go."

The five of them walked out of the pediatric ward and down a long hallway. In the middle of the hallway was a room marked '115'. Helen opened the door. The inside contained of white walls, a white floor, two cream colored couches- facing each other, and a large window at the far end. The rest of the room was empty except for a few toys scattered on the floor. After looking around the room, Jon spoke up. "Well, let's sit down shall we? We only have an hour in here." Brad and Mark nodded, and the three boys sat on the right couch, as the adults rat on the left.

"Now what?" asked Mark.

"What do you mean now what?" Helen asked.

"Now that we're in here, what do we do?"

"We talk."

"About what?"

"About whatever you want. For example…" Helen paused, thinking. "What are some things you boys like to do? You all get a turn to speak."

Mark immediately started speaking. "Well, like karate. I also like swinging. I used to swing on my swing set at home, and I like making brownies. I mostly eat the batter, but I think that's even better than the actual brownies!" he rattled off in one breath.

Jon laughed. "You certainly are a bust boy, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yup!" Mark replied proudly.

"What about you, Randy? What do you like to do?" Helen asked the boy in the middle of the couch.

Randy didn't say anything. He simply stared at his knees and didn't even give a small shrug. "Come on, Randy. You can tell them. You don't need to be scared," Brad whispered in his ear.

When there was no reply, Mark started talking for him. "Randy likes to tell jokes. He also does magic tricks and plays hockey _and_ football."

"Aww! I remember when Damian was about your age," Helen said fondly. "He had a little magic set and would put on shows for us. It was the cutest thing!"

"Yeah… Sure…" Jon said, not understanding what was so cute about his son making objects disappear. "Brad, what about you? Do any sports?"

"Yeah."

"Well, which ones?"

"Soccer and football," was Brad's blunt reply.

"Which one do you like more?"

"I don't know."

Jon stifled a sigh. This would be a long hour…

_~Noon- Outside of the Pediatric Ward~_

The boys had been taken back to the Pediatric Ward, and Jon and Helen had been told to leave while the boys rested and at lunch. On their way to the elevators, they were stopped by a doctor. "Excuse me, are you the Aunt and Uncle of the Taylor boys?" he asked them.

"Yes," Helen replied uncertainly.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Jameston, head doctor of the Pediatric Ward," he introduced himself, reaching out to shake their hands. "I'd like to take some time to talk to you guys about the boys. Is that okay?"

"Oh, yes. That's fine," Jon said.

"Why don't we head down to my office? It'll be more confortable." Dr. Jameson lead the couple down the main hall of the Pediatric Ward and stopped at the last door on the left, Room 225. "Please, sit down," he said motioning to the two chairs in front of his desk, Dr. Jameson sat in his own chair on the opposite side of the oak desk. "Like I said before, I'd like to talk to you about Brad, Randy, and Mark."

"Do you know when they'll be able to come home with us?" Helen asked.

"Well, it's hard to know exactly. Each boy has a different estimated healing time. Let's start off with Brad. His injuries are all healed, with the exception of his knee. That's no big deal. He just needs to keep it in a brace, and if it's not healed in about 3 to 4 more weeks, see a doctor. However, while is physical injuries are almost healed, he is still very protective of his little brothers, which is perfectly understandable. While they were living with their uncle, Brad gave himself the duty of doing all he could to protect his brothers from harm. Now that he's here, he still doesn't trust anyone. All that you, or anyone for that matter, can do is try to gain his trust. We are also trying to get him to talk to a therapist, but he refuses. Even if he did go, there isn't much that they could do for him.

"Besides his physical injuries, Mark has a case of Acute Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD. That's basically just a reaction people have after a traumatic experience. It's what's making him jumpy and stutter. It goes away in time, usually anywhere from 3 to 12 months. He also still refuses to talk about what happened at his uncle's house. I would have him go to both psychological and speech therapy when you take him with you to California.

"And lastly, Randy. Randy is in the worst shape of all 3 boys. Most of his injuries have healed. Like Mark, he still has a large cut on his back, along with one on his cheek. He also, as you've obviously noticed, won't talk. He almost acts catatonic during the day, but when he wakes from one of his nightmares, he is very alert. We want to say Randy has Severe PTSD, but we're still not sure. He's only gone to therapy without his brothers once, which was a huge fail. He sat there in silence for the entire hour while the therapist tried to get him to talk.

Now, in the hospital located by your house in California, there are plenty of extremely experienced and qualified doctors who could take care of the boys. We _would_ like for them to stay here for about 3 more days, just for some more observation to send the doctors by you. But then, you can take them with you for your month, and I wish you the best of luck. Oh! One more thing, we have to get them to California in the hospital helicopter- regulation- besides, I don't think it would be good for them to go out just yet. You are welcome to join them in the helicopter or take a plane back. Just let us know by Wednesday," Dr. Jameson finally stopped his speech and looked at Helen and Jon.

"Yes, thank you for your time, Doctor," Jon said, getting out of his chair.

Helen thanked Dr. Jameson too and they walked out of the room with a lot to think about.

**A/N: Okay, first I would like to apologize **_**again**_** for taking so long to update! I will try to update again by Monday… **_**If**_** you review. You wouldn't want those poor boys stuck in the hospital forver! Would you? Before I go, I would just like to say that f in non- italics looks different than **_**f**_** in non-italics. **** Sorry for the randomness! **

**Love,**

**Kiley**


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